


Let Me Illuminate This For You

by obaewankenope (rexthranduil)



Series: Crawl Lightbringer, Crawl [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Crowley is the Lightbringer, Dubious Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Satan is a thief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 12:48:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20507267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rexthranduil/pseuds/obaewankenope
Summary: The early days of hell are somewhat of a blur for Crawly. He recalls more pain and fire than anything specific such as moments where he thinks and assesses his new surroundings. There's a lot of fear and aversion, possibly disgust but nothing in his memories seems to explain those feelings—neither their existence or their intensity.





	Let Me Illuminate This For You

**Author's Note:**

> Hints of dubious consent, non-con, abuse of power dynamics, conditioning, this is not a fic that is 'hot', this a fic that shows how fucked up Satan is in his obsession with Crowley. And let me tell you, most obsessions that include stalking, controlling behaviour, end in the death of the object of obsession. So no, no romanticising allowed here. I shan't allow it.

The early days of hell are somewhat of a blur for Crawly. He recalls more pain and fire than anything specific such as moments where he thinks and assesses his new surroundings. There's a lot of fear and aversion, possibly disgust but nothing in his memories seems to explain those feelings—neither their existence or their intensity. Crawly hates that he doesn't know their cause but his fear of finding out what _ is _ their cause prevents him from delving too deeply into his mind and figuring it out. There's a deeply-held belief that the source is Her; Her shame, Her disappointment, Her _ anger _ but Crawly doesn't know for sure. 

This bothers him more than the scalpel-like pain in his wings, traversing every celestial nerve and channel of his grace although… it's not grace anymore. It's malformed, hideous, and makes Crawly view himself in a manner similar to Frankenstein's monster long before the novel is conceived let alone the human woman who will write it. He was made Perfect, they all were, but somewhere along the line, that perfection warped, twisted, deformed. For the monster of Frankenstein it was when it woke, for Crawly it had been when he'd first voiced a question aloud to Her. She saw what he was, the poison he is, and She knew She had to cast him out lest he cause ruination to her world. Reject him. Crawly understands that. But understanding doesn't make it hurt any less.

Especially when he looks up and sees blackness instead of the cosmos he _ knows _ he helped make. 

Heaven is a distant memory, messy and indistinct, like a faded photograph on a mantlepiece in a house that's seen better days. A house that's abandoned, maybe, and has been allowed to fall into disrepair over the years. Crawly's memories of heaven are very much like that photograph in an old, crumbling wreck of a house. Removed. Distant. But if he focuses on them long enough he can feel a little nostalgia, maybe some longing, but there's more of a disconnect—artificial, unnatural, like a finely done slice by an expert surgeon severing an artery—than he thinks there really should be. But who's he going to ask? No other demon will talk of heaven except in spiteful, hate-filled snarls and growls. Crawly can ask no one if his recollection of heaven is normal or not. 

And that bothers him too. 

In the first days of hell, Samael- no, no, Lucifer- _ Satan _—demands they kneel to him, swear to him their allegiance, to commit atrocities and evil in His name. Crawly pledges the same as the others but it makes his skin crawl, phantom echoes of sliced flesh, pain like someone's rubbed salt in an open wound, and he makes the promise in name only. Lip service. 

Not that it matters really. He's good with words, skilled, and can attract all sorts of things to him. Eve is a bright thing and she's drawn to Crawly the moment he emerges in Eden, scales making way for an approximation of humanity—the best he can do whilst retaining the marks of his inhumanness. He looks like her and yet not at all. She listens to him when he talks of what is Beyond The Wall, of what Could Be, of what is Right and Wrong, of being Good or Bad, and it's childsplay really. In his serpent form he returns from hell after giving his latest report and succeeds in tempting Eve to eat of The Tree. It seals her fate and the fate of all humans who will follow after her. 

Crawly, not God, is the creator of the human race now. God made them good and obedient like little lambs to Her slaughter. Crawly gave them _ choice. _ He gave them _ illumination _ . It is a pity that it so easily appears as _ damnation _to hell. 

But people see what they want to see and angels and demons are no different in that respect. 

He is the architect of humanity, shaping their future with his own nature, determining his future in the same act and Crawly will only realise that when it's all about to come to an end. She watches him throughout it all, every second of every day and he knows nothing of Her attention because She cannot let him know Her again. 

Her Lightbringer must not know Her as he did before, it's his own test in an endless series of tests for all that She has made. She knows from the outset that there will be many that fail but there is always a chance that they will succeed. 

It's up to them in the end. Just as it is up to Crawly to kneel before Satan and bow his head, not look upon the face of one who was beautiful and now only pretends to be, and to remain where he is when a sharp-clawed hand slips into his amber fire hair. He can choose to shy away, avoid the touch, but the choice will lead to punishment. Punishment will keep Crawly from earth, from an angel he's come to find interesting, and that Crawly cannot accept. 

"You are quite adept at tempting using your words," Satan says, those claws leaving prickling sensations along Crawly's scalp. Something in the touch is repulsive even as it feels alluring. "I do wonder if such skill is one you were created with or one you've developed of your own accord. I find myself interested in the answer, darling Crawly. Will you tell me?" 

What is there to tell? Crawly was made by Her, all that he is comes from Her. Except he's a demon now, fallen, and that isn't from Her. That's on him. He has always been good with words, he's sure about that, but honesty on that isn't something Crawly is sure is a good idea here. Satan does not value that which comes from Her. Not anymore. He is more prone to anger and fits of violence when She is brought up. 

To claim his skill with words as something Crawly has learnt would be to reveal that Crawly has some memory of heaven, of before. And he's not sure that's the right answer here either. He cannot tell the truth but he also cannot lie. So he settles for a bit of both. 

"I don't know, your wickedness."

Satan laughs. Once that laughter sounded like merry bells you hear ringing away at church, alerting the town that celebration was afoot, but now the laughter is more like warning bells. There is an undercurrent of _ danger Will Robinson, danger _in it and Crawly tenses his wings, hidden as they are at it. 

"Oh but I do, let me tell you, my darling Crawly," the Devil murmurs, seductive and alluring, tempting. "Let me _ illuminate _this for you. I knew you before, when we were Her slaves. I knew you because it was my duty to know. I reveal to others their true nature so dear, dear Crawly, let me reveal to you yours."

Crawly remains still under Satan's hand. He doesn't shake, doesn't tremble, only tenses more as each word the Devil speaks digs into his core and makes something that could be anger stir beneath Crawly's breast. Satan is lying. Crawly knows he is. But he cannot say it. He cannot admit it. 

He can only accept the lie and not fight against it. Not when he knows the First Fallen's hand not on his head is dangerously close to his wings, ready as always to rend and tear. 

"Yes."

Satan smiles. "_ Wonderful _." 

**Author's Note:**

> No seriously, not one bit of this relationship is good.
> 
> Comments and kudos sustain me.


End file.
